When If's Become Are
by Simply Complex Mind
Summary: A series of one-shots that take place after The Ultimate Enemy, if the explosion had really happened. VladDanny FatherSon. Kinda AU-ish. Chapter 2: "Ah.  Back to normal, then." Please read & review!
1. Preface Part I: Monster

_Author's Note: This puppy was pumped out in twenty minutes flat, un-betaed, and quickly spell checked. My apologies for any errors! I just felt the need to put this up before I lost my nerve._

_This will be a series of one-shots of varying length of what happened after The Ultimate Enemy. And yes, as forewarning, it will probably be a bit jumbled at times (like in this chapter), but I've done that on purpose to develop a sort of "stream-of-consciousness" mood._

_Well, I thanks for reading this, I hope you enjoy this series!_

**Disclaimer: I do not own the television series **_**Danny Phantom**_** or the characters and plots therein.**

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_**01: Monster**_

"_Dearly Beloved_…"

I had no way of knowing, really, but I was fairly certain that I kept blinking.

What a strange feeling.

I tilted my head, staring at the grass that was really nothing, and blinked. It was as if the only movement I could make was with my eyelids, like I knew I could move my arms, yet at the same time, I couldn't. So instead, I blinked.

It was funny, though. I'd never realized before just how gray and muted grass can look. Something …living, something so green, shouldn't look so…

…dead.

I swallowed, another measure of my anatomy coming back under my awareness and control. Then my hearing cut in, and for a second I thought I was zoning out in the middle of one of Lancer's pointless lectures, what with the droning voice coming from somewhere in front of me, but that didn't really make sense, because there's never been grass _inside_ the school, just a lot of tile and cement. Kind of like—

All the muscles in my torso jerked, mirroring the jolt in my stomach as I remembered the explosion. Remembered Lancer and his ridiculous classes and the detentions he always dished out. Remembered my parents scolding me when he called telling of my newest failure or detention, Jazz quietly standing by, as though restraining herself from either defending me or yelling back at _them_ in return. Remembered me and Sam and Tuck hanging out at our table There, most afternoons: Tucker shoveling down meat like Armageddon would start any minute and Sam making caustic jokes about how They probably used the unused innards of the poor defenseless cows to make the Nasty Sauce, me laughing while Tuck glared and Sam smirked.

My entire body jolted this time, as a deep sickness roiled beyond my stomach, inside my very being. I shakily pulled my arms around me in a semblance of a hug and stared foggily at the would-be sweet grass under my feet. Somewhere between both the happy and mundane memories, the sight of charred brick and splattered gore peeked out, creeping across my consciousness and into my line of sight.

I really couldn't help it when the first sob ripped its way through me.

I screwed my eyes shut, against the stares of the memorial-goers or the splattered entrails I didn't want to see, I'll never know. But I _did_ know that my bawling was hard and heavy and completely undignified, though nowhere near as releasing as it should've been.

The pastor was making a valiant effort to continue on as if I wasn't trying to take over the service with my agony, but frankly, I neither knew nor cared. I was so caught up in everything, in the jumbled stream of consciousness that had been my life for the past week, that I almost didn't register the warm, almost fever-hot hand placed on my back.

And neither did I really register my crying picking up with gusto when the hand was placed there, nor that same hand removing itself.

A figure that I knew was clad in almost-familiar black attire crouched down at my side and wrapped solid arms around me.

I knew it was wrong, to take comfort when this was all my _damn_ fault, and especially in this person, but I couldn't help it.

Hidden inside the muting fabric of his black suit jacket and dark shirt, clutching at my own arms so hard I was bruising myself…

…I felt a bit less lonely. A little more sane.

Like I wasn't as much of a monster as I knew I was.


	2. Preface Part II: Careful

_Author's Note: I just love it when my computer breaks. Sorry I haven't been able to respond to you, Lovely Reviewers; I'll try to get to it as soon as possible! Still, I'd like to send a freaking humongous 'THANK YOUUU~!' to all who reviewed the first chapter. You guys make my day, I assure you. : )_

**Disclaimer: I do not own the television series **_**Danny Phantom**_** or the characters and plots therein.**

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_**02: Careful**_

"You know, you really should be more careful."

Vlad's statement should have been reprimanding or joking, even scornful. Instead, it was just some syllables to fill the silence as he rewrapped Danny's wrist in flexible gauze.

As had become usual, Danny didn't reply and avoided even looking at the man. Even so, he could still see the mauve-ish blob that was Vlad, stripped of his black suit jacket for once in his life. If Danny had been paying more attention, seeing stiff, pompous, evil Vlad looking less than impeccable would've been a pretty good indicator of how completely stressed the older hybrid was.

"Hmm." Danny somehow managed a faint hum in response.

If he had seen the expression of taken aback surprise on the man's face, he also probably would have realized just how far gone Danny himself had been for the past week.

Vlad coughed into the suffocating silence, only made thicker be the younger halfa actually giving a verbal response for the first time in days.

"Well, I guess that's it then," Vlad commented awkwardly as he stepped back from the bathroom counter. This time the only response he got was the boy hopping off the marble to silently trudge to his room.

Ah. Back to normal, then.

As the older halfa slowly put to first aid kit back in order, he didn't quite notice the way Danny gently cradled his fractured right wrist—with new bruises, once again hidden under the gauze, courtesy of The Memorial Incident—to his stomach.

Almost like he was afraid to let go.


End file.
